


Charades

by Antecanis, Aridette



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: ConHaythWeek 2016, Dress Up, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, chwday14, chwday3, chwday8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8849002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antecanis/pseuds/Antecanis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aridette/pseuds/Aridette
Summary: When both father and son take on roles the other did not expect to see them in, both must face the consequences and reevaluate their relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a holiday collaboration filling the prompts "Connor is acting strangely since he realized that his interest in Haytham isn’t quite as innocent as he’d like it to be. Haytham doesn’t get it and is annoyed by his son’s behaviour." (day 3), "Haytham wears a Spanish Captain’s uniform for a mission. Connor likes what he sees." (day 8) and "Connor making his father blush and stammer in embarrassment" (day 14).
> 
> We hope reading this brings you as much joy as it did us while working on it!

Connor regarded the spot where Haytham had stood just moments ago. Before he had huffed and walked off.   


Their relationship had been strained from the beginning. For one, because they found themselves on opposing sides of a century-old feud. But also because, however reluctant they were to embrace that particular truth, they were family. While the first gave them plenty of reasons to bicker and fight, the latter often made them halt and reconsider.  
Whatever had happened to the sort of tentative understanding they had reached that way, Connor did not know.  
  
There was only little he truly understood about his father, but what little he knew for sure had always made him consider Haytham a patient man. At least around Connor himself.  
That realization, Connor was sure, was the source of their current predicament.  
Patience and curiosity had led to reluctant care and friendliness and that in turn…  
Connor dared not think about it.  
What he felt was unnatural and most certainly unwelcome. He did his best to hide what had to remain hidden, to keep quiet about what had to remain unsaid. And yet, his father was acting strangely. Angrier than usual, impatient, even harsh.  
Connor would have to be more careful in the future.

* * *

 

Haytham’s patience had its ends. Certainly, as he mused while saddling his horse and eventually finding his way back to the Inn he was currently staying at, the boy hadn’t always behaved this troublesome; no, it had in fact seemed like they could work together well when not quarreling about their world views. Maybe, as the Grand Master dared to admit to himself, he was even  _ fond _ of the boy - simply because he could see himself in the naïve young man; idealistic and hopeful. But - alas! - lately something was off, and Haytham was annoyed by the young Assassin’s behavior that had given their dynamic such a strange spin. Sighing, the Templar ran a hand over his face and muttered a curse under his breath; disregarding the beautiful evening unfolding around him and suffusing the landscape with a soft golden glow. Entanglements such as this were bothersome, he thought grimly, and he was tired of Connor apparently being even more disobedient and pig-headed than usual. 

And still, for the time being, there was a certain need for them to work together; as unpleasant as that seemed to be for both of them now. With a shake of his head, the Templar guessed that this was probably the reason for the boy’s strange behavior that provoked his father’s impatience more than before. The young man was quite obviously tired of their collaboration, and somehow, this made Haytham be even more on edge lately. He vaguely wondered what had happened to this futile ease that had existed between them just weeks ago; including their bickering and occasional fighting, and ending in moments of unvoiced mutual acceptance.

The Grand Master figured that it might be appropriate to keep their distance for the time being, and with that, he kept himself from reaching out to the young Assassin for now. Somehow, it felt strange not to have the boy around after they had spent so many hours working together; but Connor didn’t reach out either, and Haytham saw his idea confirmed that the Assassin was tired of their arrangement after all.

* * *

 

For as long as Connor could, he put off seeing his father. To spare them both the awkwardness that was certain to still remain after their last parting. He gathered information, as much as he could without having to make use of the Templar’s connections. There had been a lot he had achieved without his father and he refused to believe he had to rely on him entirely now when he had not before. Their goals aligned in so far as that they both fought for freedom from the British. That way, at least Connor did not have to worry about having to work against his father for the time being. But if his intel was correct, he might have to worry about other Templars’ influence rather sooner than later.

Where the British were allied with Portugal, they had not supported them in their war against Spain a few years prior. That in turn had led to a rise of Spanish governance in the South, that became difficult to ignore. Especially after Aveline had warned him about Spanish Templars taking control over more and more of the major settlements and cities.

Now that the Spanish were aligning their forces with those of the American colonies in their fight for freedom, who was to say other Templar branches would not seek to destroy the slowly growing Assassin Brotherhood.

Connor would have to find out exactly how deeply the Templars were involved in the situation. And the quickest way to do just that was to be in attendance of the upcoming negotiations. He had no time to find and consult his father on the odd chance that he had been in contact with his Southern brethren. Not when a strategic meeting between Navy officials of both sides was tonight and he had yet to fetch his Captain’s uniform to pass for a privateer.

* * *

 

Other missions kept the Templar busy during those days in which he neither saw nor heard from his son; and with the upcoming negotiations between Spanish Templars and the colonists, he grew uneasy with the idea of them being carried out in their entirety without him having any influence over them. According to his scarce information, these new Spanish Templar allies were certainly willing to help; they had provided the colonies with goods before, and would soon enter the war on their own terms. But, as Haytham knew, only children and fools were without doubt; thus he did not rely on them doing it for mere idealistic reasons. They wanted something in return; power; maybe not only over the Southern areas exclusively. And as he knew, his truce with the Assassins had reached their ears as well; deafening them for Haytham’s words for now. He had lost contact with the Southern branches of the Templars a while ago, and now he pondered over how he could gain at least  _ some _ influence over these operations. With the right sort of information, he might be able to let the right promises reach the right ears.

A meeting between the Naval officers from both the colonies and the Spanish Navy could pose an excellent opportunity for him to gain such; and in order to blend in, he had planned on obtaining a Spanish captain’s uniform; guessing as a colonist, he would be too easy to spot.  
However, it had not been as effortless as he had thought to find a uniform that was neither bloodied nor torn in this short amount of time; and one of his contacts only delivered it to him on the day of the meeting.  
He eyed the uniform skeptically as he laid it out on his bed; shaking his head at the contrast of blue knee breeches, red waistcoat and blue coat with golden ornaments. But the worst, he thought, was the _wig_. Sighing, he went to dress. Only then he realized that the uniform might just be a _bit_ small.  
The breeches felt, in fact, rather tight. And so did the waistcoat and coat; accentuating his broad shoulders to a degree that he would have to remind himself not to tear it on accident. Cursing under his breath, he pulled on the wig and finally, the bicorn hat. Giving another sigh, he looked down on himself and was for just a split-second glad that at least he wouldn’t have to deal with Connor during this mission; in this ridiculous outfit it would just be a challenge to handle the young Assassin, who, as the Grand Master guessed, would be unable to keep his comments back.

The main objective that evening was to blend in, not attract any attention and gather as much information as he could in order to glimpse the Spanish Templars’ plans and take action if necessary. He had come up with a decent cover story in case anyone doubted his right to attend; and a contact could step in if needed. But all in all, Haytham hoped for a quiet evening; a rather uncomplicated mission in comparison to what he had gone through with Connor so far.

* * *

 

Amidst the small crowd of representatives, Connor had somehow managed to enter the grounds without arousing suspicion.  
So far, nobody had tried to engage him in conversation, which suited him just fine. That way he could walk around and listen in on different conversations. Every now and then he would find a spot from where he had a good view of the guests and scanned them for any dangerously red auras. He was making his way over towards the door to an adjacent room when he heard a rather familiar voice, stopping him dead in his tracks.

No, it could not be.  
He looked for the familiar dark blue cape and tricorn hat, the gray shock of hair he would recognize anywhere, but could not spot the man. All he found was a sea of bright blue uniforms sporting the occasional red and gold and men in white wigs - nothing even remotely like the more muted colours his father preferred.  
Coincidence, then.

Connor leaned against the wall by the door and listened intently, then chanced a longer glance using his second sight.  
He gasped.

At the far end of the room several men shone in a bright red, some of them appeared to be guards of some sort. And not too far from them, a single figure appeared in hues of blue. Connor shook his head.  
He had sent none of his recruits and expected none of his immediate allies to be in attendance either. Who could possibly-?

Recovered from the moment of surprise Connor entered the room as though he had meant to all along.  
The man who seemed to be an ally was clad in the uniform of a Spanish Captain. Connor was unsure what to make of that. From where he stood he could only see his back - broad shoulders, the white ponytail of the wig brushing against them, a slim waist, a sword hanging from his hip past his knee breeches and softly leaning against his calf. Connor squinted.  
There was something familiar about the other man, something he could not quite place.  
The man turned a little. Not yet looking in his direction, but Connor caught a better glimpse of the sword hilt that the man tried to subtly cover with one hand. And did that not look suspiciously familiar?  
This was not the delicate hilt of an officer’s sword that would be carried on such occasions.  
Connor’s mouth felt dry, his heart was beating faster, as his gaze travelled up to the man’s face and he found his father’s grey eyes staring back at him.

* * *

 

Haytham clenched his jaw and tried to hide the annoyance and surprise that tugged at his insides as he spotted – of all people – his son.  
Up until now, everything had worked out just splendidly – not only had he gained access to the meeting without troubles, no, he had managed to engage one of the men, who would be in charge of the upcoming negotiations, into a private conversation. They had retreated into a more quiet room slightly away from the crowd. The Grand Master had brought up his cover story and pretended to have a vessel suited for the pending war; wanting to know in which way he could engage in the negotiations; could offer his services.  
The high ranking Naval officer that Haytham was talking to was heavily guarded, and the Templar was careful not to arouse any suspicion; letting the other talk most of the time and only now and then posing a vague, inconspicuous question. So far, he had gained some valuable insight into the Spanish Templars’ activities, but it was certainly not enough to act upon.

However, there had been a nagging feeling of someone staring at him from across the room, and after a moment, Haytham gave in and took a brief look around; just making sure his escape route was clear of guards and no one had recognized him just yet. But the young man who was staring at him with a brimming intensity was neither a guard nor a Templar – it was the one person Haytham really did not want to see that very evening.

He could spot in Connor’s eyes that he had recognized him, and the Grand Master wondered what the Assassin would do about it – what he was even doing here. Surely, it wouldn’t be helpful in the slightest, as Haytham thought vaguely and tried to concentrate back on his target. And still, he wished he wasn’t so bothered by Connor’s presence – trying to convince himself it was more because of the Assassin’s unknown motives bothering him than the young man seeing him in the silly, tight Captain’s uniform that so unpleasantly clung to his skin.

* * *

 

Connor tried to remind himself that his father being there changed nothing. He could still shadow the other attendees and try to get closer to the group of Templars. Although doing so without drawing attention turned out to be more difficult now that his eyes kept wandering towards his father.  
He just wanted to make sure he knew where the other man was, he told himself.  
It was not at all because he had noticed how tightly the uniform hugged his father’s body. Clearly it had not been tailored for him. Neither had it been made with flexibility in mind. Nevertheless, he appreciated the strangely appealing sight it made for.  
The red waistcoat and golden trimmings gave him an even more regal and fierce look than he usually sported. Connor smirked. Clearly that waistcoat was working hard to contain his father’s muscular build. Not that he complained, but it was rather distracting.  
Whenever he inevitably ended up focusing on his father, he ended up noticing further details he wished he could forget about for the sake of his mission.  
A few times his father caught him staring. Every time Connor avoided the looks, turned away and made a point of looking literally anywhere else.  
How dared one man be so distracting when the future of their fledgeling nation depended on the outcome of this and other meetings in the following months?  
No, Connor had to concentrate.  
Get near the Templars, listen, do not stand out. Hiding in plain sight had never been so difficult.

* * *

 

Straightening a bit, the Grand Master tried to keep focused on the conversation he was having, but irritatingly enough, he could sense Connor’s intense stare following his every movement, or so it felt. However, every time he turned to catch the other’s glance, Connor instantly averted his eyes and seemed to regard everyone and everything in the room except for him.  
Only after a while, Haytham wondered if Connor was really looking at _him_ , or maybe at the man he was standing next to. To that conclusion the guards seemed to have come as well, and Haytham could overhear a few whispered Spanish words they exchanged; making each other aware of that one privateer, who tried to blend in without engaging in any conversation, and was blatantly observing the group of officers.  
Trying to hide his exasperation, Haytham meant to make eye contact with the young Assassin and let him know, for his sake, that the guards had spotted him as a potential threat – if he kept going like this, they would detect him soon. But the young Assassin sure made a point of looking away whenever Haytham dared to avert his eyes from his target in front of him; and the guards were slowly becoming more alerted.

Being able to understand their low murmur, Haytham closed his hand around his sword; wondering in whose favor he would have to intervene; if Connor was here to assassinate the high-ranking Templar Haytham was talking to, he was certainly not standing by to watch. But, as he thought with vague annoyance, he would also not watch the guards overpowering that foolish Assassin. There were quite a few enemies too many around; and the best move Connor could make now was to vanish in the crowd.  
But, alas!, it seemed quite too late for that as the guards exchanged a few Spanish words to be clear on how to grab the intruder and question him thoroughly. The Grand Master took a deep breath as he realized that he would have to decide upon what to do about this right away.  
Giving a displeased hiss, Haytham snapped out of the conversation with the officer and turned around. “Get the hell out of here, _ now.”  
_ And as he guessed, that was his cue, too.

* * *

 

Connor was drifting closer to the group of Templars, intent on getting some intel at least. If only his father stopped looking at him like this. How was he to get close enough if he kept having to avert his eyes?  
He was finally close enough to catch a few words, exchanged in a language he did not understand much of, when he realized his mistake. The Spanish Templars had noticed him. The guards were ready to advance towards him. And right at that moment, his father turned towards him, weapon at the ready, and ordered him to leave.  
Unlike the men around him, whose first reflex was to shrink back, Connor needed a moment to process.  
If not for the fact that the guards were now turning on his father as well, he might have hightailed it out of the vicinity. But the last time the older man had found himself outnumbered was still on his mind.  
„Not without you.“ he yelled as he parried the first attack.

* * *

 

„Don’t be preposterous, boy!“ came the reply. The Templar Haytham had been talking to looked furious, probably mistaking him for an Assassin himself as he retreated with two of the guards. Ridiculous, the whole affair.  
„And don’t you dare-!“ The remaining guards were pushing him further back towards the actual Assassin, while more and more of the assembled Captains drew their swords and pistols.

* * *

„I am not like you, father.“ Connor said. He would not kill innocents. Especially not when it was his own fault it had come to this.

* * *

 

„Damned right you are not!“  _ Or we would not be in this predicament _ , he left unsaid. Connor understood him well enough without him having to be explicit about it.

* * *

 

Connor was vaguely aware of the odds of them making it out of there unscathed if they remained to fight.  
„Stay close,“ he commanded instead.  
And just as his father gave him a puzzled look, he threw one of his smoke bombs at the ground right in front of the guard’s feet, creating an escape route for the both of them.  
He grabbed his father’s arm and dragged him from the room, then down the stairs towards the hallway where it was less crowded and nobody had noticed the upheaval yet.  
  
Moments later he heard quick footsteps and yells behind them. The guards were on their heels.

* * *

 

When Haytham had made his way to the meeting, he had paid close attention to a possible escape route, and now he was glad about it.  
After having been more or less dragged out of the building by his son – much to his annoyance – he followed close at Connor’s heel. They were trying to get a headstart on the pursuing pack of Templars, but so far, it did not look good for them since the mob could easily spread out and corner them sooner or later.  
So much for a _ quiet evening _ Haytham thought; vaguely being worried his whole outfit would rip any moment as he ran after his son.

Upon turning a corner and already being able to hear their followers shouting at a close distance, Haytham remembered a shack in which they might be able to hide.  
Not wanting to risk any exclamation alerting their tail, he merely mirrored Connor’s motion from before and grabbed his arm; pulling him towards the shed and urging him inside. Unfortunately, as Haytham had not checked before, it was filled with firewood; maybe not unsurprisingly so, as he realized now. However, there was a small opening in which they might just fit; well hidden, even if the others might glance into the shed on their pursuit.  
Pressing against his son, Haytham was barely able to close the wooden door behind them. Only now, he allowed himself a deep breath, and regretted it instantly as he felt the waistcoat giving up and losing at least one button. What a day.

* * *

 

One moment they were running, the next a stack of firewood was pressed against his back while his father pressed against his front.  
Connor gulped. This was not at all how he had planned this to go.  
Trying not to lose his composure, he looked up towards the low ceiling and tried to get some distance between the both of them. Maybe if he managed to shuffle backwards without dislodging any of the logs- or turn their bodies sideways-.

His heart was beating at a frantic pace. Not so much because they had just run from guards, but because he was neither good with narrow spaces nor with close proximity. Especially that of his father, as it turned out.  
The glimpses of his toned body he had gotten all evening long were tormenting enough. Combined with the desires he fought every day and the waistcoat finally having given in and opening a little at the collar, they were a fatal combination. He had to put some distance between them. Preferably right now.  
His blood was rushing in his ears as he kept trying to wriggle himself out of their current position.  
All he achieved, however, was that some log was poking uncomfortable at the back of his knee now.

* * *

 

Haytham listened to Spanish commands being shouted back and forth; and so far, it seemed like they thought the two ‘Assassins’ were still on the run.  
However, his attention was once more drawn to his son who squirmed continuously; trapped between his father’s body and the firewood. For a moment, Haytham simply endured it, guessing the boy had some log poking him uncomfortably or something of the like. His face was just inches away from Connor’s, and as terrified as the look in his eyes was, the Templar guessed that the other really did not like small spaces too much. Plus, it almost felt like the young man’s heart would burst out of his chest anytime now; Haytham could feel Connor’s pounding heart against him all too well.  
But when the constant struggling did not seem to stop, he eventually let out with some irritation, “For heaven’s sake, boy – will you stop fidgeting around like that? I know it’s quite _tight_ but this is our best chance if we plan on getting out of this without another fight. I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight!”  
In fact, Haytham did not understand what had gotten into the Assassin in general lately – but if all this was just another symptom of Connor not wanting to work with his father, he could have just left him in the other Templars’ hands back at the meeting, couldn’t he? It certainly made no sense at all.

But when the young Assassin seemed like he wanted to give some sort of comeback, or maybe defend himself for his foolishness that very evening, Haytham leaned in closer; firmly placing a hand onto Connor’s mouth.  
“Hush!” His voice was just a whisper as he listened attentively. Indeed, the voices came nearer; and the Spanish utterances seemed to come from right outside the shack’s door. Pressing just a bit closer up to the boy, the Grand Master tried to make out more bits of their quiet conversation. Pursing his lips in thought, the Templar tried to shift just a bit, moving unintentionally against the other since there was no space to move anywhere else.

Only when the voices sounded more and more distant, the Grand Master realized that his hand was still covering his son’s mouth. For one weird moment, he apprehended just how close the two of them were; flushed against each other in the dim light of the shack.  
Removing his hand, Haytham reached up to loosen his cravat a bit; running his hand over the spaces on his waistcoat where once buttons had been. Holding that thought, he guessed sooner or later he would have to endure the Assassin’s mockery for his outfit this evening. He really needed to dress properly soon.

* * *

 

Connor needed a moment to collect himself before he could make any sort of retort.  
„Was that really necessary?“ he asked eventually after taking as deep a breath as he dared. Coming across as annoyed was a thousand times preferable to coming across as flustered. Which he was. Very much so.  
  
He had found his father attractive before, but today’s outfit accentuated his body features tremendously. What he would not do to be allowed to lean in further. Instead he leaned as far out of the Templar’s reach as he could, which was not much at all.

„I believe it was. Your stupid antics were going to give us away.“ his father countered angrily, leaning in farther, much to his dismay.

„Antics?!“ Connor had no idea what the other man was talking about. Sure, he had not meant to just accept his father’s words and not defend himself, but he would not have been loud enough to be heard outside.

„Don’t play dumb, Connor. If you thought I didn’t notice you avoiding me-!“ Haytham began.

„Avoiding?!“ Connor cut him off, upset with where the conversation was heading. Even more upset by the fact that they were having this conversation in a wood shed of all places.

„What’s with parroting everything I say now?!“

This time it was Connor who put a hand on the other’s mouth to shut him up. And just in time. Obviously the guards were on their way back, or perhaps a patrol was passing by. It was hard to tell when all that Connor could make out was the heavy footfall that spoke of clumsy infantrymen in boots.  
His father stared at him, eyes wide in surprise, yet still angry.

When the sounds grew more distant, Connor removed his hand. Before his father could continue where he had left of, he admitted, „I was not avoiding you.“

* * *

 

Strangely enough, Connor’s touch stirred up something within the Templar; but he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. As he waited with vague annoyance for the young Assassin to remove his hand, many thoughts crossed his mind.  
He thought about how Connor was getting stronger; more independent and fierce every day; how he should’ve killed the young Assassin long ago; yes, probably during the last time they had been so terribly close.  
But at the same time Haytham knew that even if he could go back in time and reiterate that first moment in the church, he would still not do it; for many reasons, really.  
“Not avoiding me?” Haytham scoffed, oblivious to him being the parrot this time. “Well, for your sake I will not even address those past weeks, in which you have not deigned to show your face even once – _that_ I can surely attribute to your certain newfound unwillingness to further collaborate with me – but your escapades today where just ludicrous, to say the very least.” He paused for a moment to listen if anyone was bustling around outside, but continued to speak before Connor could bring out some sort of reply.  
“What were you even doing there tonight, boy? Trying to assassinate the man I was speaking to, I reckon? Pah, staring so blatantly at your target; I knew you were foolish, Assassin, but I did not expect you to be so sloppy during missions!”  
  
The Templar would have liked to pace during his speech; to emphasize his annoyance and incomprehension of the Assassin’s actions that evening, but instead, he was still pressed close to the boy; unable to bring some distance between them for the time being.

* * *

 

„I was not-!“ Connor wanted to protest. But his father was right. He had been sloppy - albeit for other reasons than he thought.   
  
In a calmer tone, he started over again. „I was not there to kill anyone, father. I would not disregard our truce like this.“    
Apparently the other was not so sure about that, when the thought of betraying his father’s trust like this had not even crossed his mind. He had meant to give them both some time lest he drive them apart, not to do the very same by keeping his distance. 

Connor’s heart was racing by the time he opened his mouth again. It was now or never; his only chance to clear up this particular misunderstanding.  
„And I was certainly not staring at ‚my target’.“    
Had he been concentrating more on his target than the other man, he would have been successful in gathering the information he came there for. 

Even now he had a hard time figuring out where to look. If he avoided his father’s eyes, would it seem like he lied? If he gave in and looked straight at him, would the Templar be able to see right through him? Neither option was preferable to the other.  
Connor looked down between them and gulped when his eyes landed on the missing buttons visible just under the loosened cravat, then up to his father’s face. „You were… are, rather distracting tonight.“

Whatever the other made of this admission, now that it was out there Connor felt like he could not even breathe past the embarrassment that came with the revelation.

* * *

 

Of course, Haytham thought as he rolled his eyes. This was how Connor wanted to play it. And even though the Templar had somehow expected the young Assassin to bring up his ridiculous outfit, he was annoyed by Connor claiming it had distracted him from his main objective.  
The Grand Master would not have admitted it, but it certainly chipped his pride to be objected to such ridiculing; why on earth he would care about his appearance in front of the young Assassin was no question to be asked.

“It’s hard to believe you want to attribute your own  _ incapability _ to focus to me wearing some silly outfit! Heavens! – Then, shower me with your taunts afterwards, boy, instead of stirring up a mob of men looking for us. It certainly isn’t funny enough to account for your sloppy work this evening.”  
Clenching his jaw, Haytham wanted to say more, but his irritation with Connor’s behavior just now distracted him quite enough to come up with more retorts; because, despite his ridiculing, the boy didn’t look amused or smug in the slightest.

* * *

 

Briefly, Connor felt anger flare up deep inside him. It was quickly replaced by confusion, however. He wondered if it was as plain on his face as it felt. The anger had been expected, but not the fact that the Templar was still unaware of what he had been implying so clumsily.

He blinked. For his father’s sake he would disregard the fact that he kept insulting him, had done before they had parted ways as well. Perhaps he was only partly to blame if he believed Connor had been mocking him all along.

Connor knew the other did not mince his words, much less so in front of his son when he felt their discussions were going nowhere. The insults spoke volumes of the confusion and frustration that were festering underneath.  
At least one of those things, Connor could take care of. Despite still not liking it.  
But then, why was his father so conscious about his looks? He never seemed to have cared before.

„I do not see what makes you think so badly of the uniform. It… suits you well.“

It was the wrong thing to say, if the Templars outburst was anything to go by. „It doesn’t even fit right!“ he spat out before he could lower his voice to a more reasonable volume.

Connor looked at him once more, flustered but more composed than his father at any rate. The situation would be bordering on comical now if he were not facing a very upset man more than capable of coldblooded murder.  
„One might argue that it fits exactly right.“  
Might as well put his entire foot in his mouth if it meant he finally got his point across.

* * *

 

There was a moment of silence as Haytham tried to make sense of Connor’s words. Certainly, the uniform was not tailored for him, thus it clung rather uncomfortably to his skin, but…  
As it dawned on him, he could feel his cheeks redden, and upon wishing they would not do so, it seemed to only get worse. Averting his eyes and trying to stay upset, he could not help but be even more confused than before.  
“What are you implying? I –“  
He had started talking before he even knew what to say; just wanting to pierce through that awkward silence. The fact that they were still pressed together did not help the situation one bit, and Haytham was tempted to just open the door because for some reason or another, it was suddenly hard to breathe in the shack.

“Well –“ He cleared his throat. “It’s tight, yes, but –“ His stuttering betrayed his efforts to appear still upset or even composed. “I don’t – don’t see how that’s distracting –“  
The truth was, he did very well understand how that could be distracting; however, not to _ Connor _ of all people. The young Assassin never seemed specifically interested in physical attractiveness, and to think he was flustered by Haytham’s appearance – no, there was no way – But then again, did it not explain his behavior this evening?  
But, no, Haytham vaguely shook his head as the thoughts swirled through his mind, he must have misunderstood.  
For the time being, Haytham was simply confused by what Connor wanted to imply, and even more so, he could feel embarrassment suffuse him with its hot fingers poking his insides. As he nervously reached up to loosen his cravat just a bit more, for it felt terribly tight, he added with a mutter, “How that would be distracting to – to _ you.” _

* * *

 

Connor felt the weight being lifted off his mind. At least they seemed to have moved past the anger. Although anger was something he was used to and knew how to handle. A blushing and stuttering Grand Master, though, that was something he had not anticipated.  
„Do you not?“ Connor asked softly.  
What he would not give to be able to walk right out of this mess now that there were no further misunderstandings left between them. He was once again uncomfortably aware of how close they were to each other.

„All that time and you expected me to not notice just how much you hide under your coat and cape, father?“ he continued when the Templar remained silent, instead pulled at his cravat further.  
Was that still just his own heart or was he Templar’s heart rate picking up as well?

„Here, let me,“ Connor offered.  
Although the other man muttered his name, he did not protest. Nimble fingers made quick work of the constricting cloth, allowing some air to cool the blushing skin underneath.  
„Better?“  
He smiled at his father, who still said nothing coherent, unable to keep the grin off his face as another thought crossed his mind.

Connor wriggled one arm free and took the bicorn that came with the Spanish uniform off his head. While it served little purpose otherwise, it made for a great fan.  
Apparently, both of them needed to cool off a little and the gesture was an easy enough distraction.

* * *

 

Shaking his head a little and taking a deep breath that caused the remaining button to say its goodbyes, Haytham only slowly fully grasped what Connor had revealed in this moment of seeking shelter in the shack.  
“While we’re at it – “, he muttered helplessly, reaching up to pull the wig from his head. With this piece of masquerade gone, he slowly felt like he might be able to gather a coherent thought again. Regarding the young man in front of him with sharp grey eyes, he still could not quite believe what now lay open in front of him. Since when had the boy looked at him that way – and since when did the Grand Master feel just so terribly flustered by it?  
His own fast heartbeat certainly matched his son’s, and the Templar wondered if the other felt it, too. Swallowing hard, he enjoyed the breath of air that Connor provided by waving the bicorn hat and wished he knew what to do. Certainly, if they were to remain like this; pressed against each other and exchanging such tender words; with Connor looking at him like that, his voice uncharacteristically soft; his eyes so dark one could easily get lost…

Straightening a bit, Haytham threw the wig into some corner of the shed and fetched the hat from Connor’s hands again to put it back on his head.  
“I suspect they are gone.” His voice still sounded a bit off, and he added with some haste, “We better get going, before they circle round again.”  
Shifting just a bit, he reached out for the door. However, before he opened it, a strange feeling overcame him and he looked back at Connor.

* * *

 

Nothing was going nearly as Connor expected that evening.  
While he was glad his father had not stabbed him where he stood, nor told him to leave and never come back, this rejection, however small and understandable, still hurt.  
He was right, though. They needed to move. The sun had set already, no longer providing light outside. Right now there was nothing that would prevent them from disappearing into the night without a trace.

For a moment, Connor wondered how this simple mission could have gone so awry.  
He knew exactly why. And the more time passed, the sillier it seemed. Instead of seizing the chance and working together, they had ended up jeopardizing not only the mission, but possibly their relationship as well.  
HE had ended up doing that.  
His father had only been dragged into it by his momentary madness.

Connor nodded, more to himself than anything and looked towards the door.  
If his father decided they should just ignore what had transpired, he would follow suit and bear the pain until it passed.

He stood straighter and finally, the door was opened and they stepped out into the fresh night air.  
Connor felt bitter disappointment rise inside of him as he followed behind his father. The cool air should feel pleasant against his overheated skin. But he got a feeling it would be a while until he could appreciate that.  
Instead of looking at the Templar, he turned away to reorient himself in the city and head towards one of the Assassin’s hideouts. There was time to berate himself and replay their conversation in his mind later, when his father would not be around to notice his discomfort and slowly creeping in sadness.

* * *

 

The cold air wafting around the Templar was a stark contrast to the heat and closeness of the shed, and for just a while, it felt strange to leave the intimacy they had just shared behind.  
If he wanted to admit it or not, this was throwing him into more inner turmoil than he would have anticipated, and Haytham gave a quiet sigh as he fidgeted with the loose waistcoat.  
How unexpected this whole evening had turned out to be, he thought to himself, only vaguely paying attention to where their steps had led them; as long as they could get out of the grasp of the Spanish for now.  
Glancing over at his son who was about to doubtlessly retreat to some hideout, the Grand Master was stricken by the bleak expression on Connor’s face. The young man seemed lost in thought, or at least otherwise preoccupied; his eyes averted as if to figure out where he was going, not only literally.  
In that very moment Haytham realized that he could not let Connor wander off like this; seemingly rejected or at least his bold confession brushed off so hastily. Despite it appearing as if the older man was eager to get this out of the way, it was quite the contrary; it simply opened such a different door that Haytham was timid to push it wide open – because there was no in between. Not in matters such as this.

Clenching his jaw, the Templar ran a hand over his face; suddenly feeling old and tired, after being reduced to a stuttering young lad only moments ago.  
“Connor!” His dark voice had not been loud, but he was sure the other had heard him. “Wait.”

* * *

 

What could his father possibly want? Tell him off after all?

There was not enough anger in his voice. Once the anger had dissipated, it had not returned. Not yet. Instead, his voice was laced with something more like disillusionment.  
Whatever that meant for their future, Connor did not know as he turned to face his father quietly. He tried for a smile. If it turned out like a neutral look, he was lucky.  
Connor stepped closer. It was unfair, that the Templar still looked gorgeous when he was this disheveled - waistcoat missing most of its buttons, strands of hair standing up after the wig had come off. There was no mistaking Connor’s looks for anything other than what they were, now; pure adoration.

„Father?“ he asked, acknowledging the request that had been made of him, eventually.  
He got no farther, as a hand came up to his face. Not to cover his mouth once more, but to- caress his cheek?  
„I do not understand.“ Nevertheless, he turned into the touch before he could help it.

The other man’s huff sounded amused. His eyes remained soft as he drew even nearer.  
„Don’t get any ideas now, boy.“

Before Connor could ask about what he meant, a soft pair of lips captured his own.  
It did not last long. Not nearly long enough for Connor to truly reciprocate. Nor did it provide anything but the confirmation that the Assassin had not been rejected entirely. But that was more than he could have asked for.

However brief and innocent the kiss was, it made his heart flutter.  
„Father…“

* * *

 

As he pulled away and eyed the young Assassin with a mild expression, Haytham briefly allowed a smile to appear on his lips. It was a token, nothing more for now – a token that there was a possibility; an unsaid amendment to the course of their relationship. And still, he could not deny his heart throbbing at the sight of the boy’s fervent glance; the way he had addressed him just now; saying one word and meaning the world.  
The Templar knew that even this almost innocent gesture had set off strings of fate that neither of them could grasp; and for a tiny moment, the Grand Master hoped this idea of tenderness between them could help to dismantle their ultimate demise; the certain prospect of the other’s blood on their hands…

Reaching out to brush a strand of hair from the other’s face, he hoped the melancholy did not show in his eyes as he locked them with Connor’s for a mere second. It was a kind touch of goodbye for tonight; and even more so a quiet reassurance that he had meant to do what he had done just a moment ago.

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow at my Inn.” It was no question, and the Templar looked stern. “I reckon we have to agree upon a strategy regarding the upcoming negotiations – lest we repeat tonight’s mess.”  
Hesitating for a moment, he added, “Even though I might dare to say it was not an outright disaster. I’ll await you in the evening to resume where we left off.”  
With that, he turned away; vanishing into the night and leaving the Assassin with all the implications these words had to offer.

It was a starry night, and once the cool air had calmed down the Templar’s heated heart, he allowed himself to reach up to his tingling lips; thinking that maybe the uniform had done a better job than he had expected it to.


End file.
